


Of All Our Minds

by CemetaryHighway



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A WTNV AU apparently, A heck ton of angst, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Cuties, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt, Feels, Fluff, Fluff AND angst :D, Friends to Lovers, I have no idea what happened, M/M, Mostly comprised of pain, THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT COLLECTION, The author has lost control, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CemetaryHighway/pseuds/CemetaryHighway
Summary: Am I going to write a hundred oneshots? Yep.Am I going to put them all in one book? Mm-hmm.Am I going to regret this? Hell yeah.Edit: This started as a personal challenge to myself because I'm an idiot but they connected in convoluted ways and I couldn't figure out how to stop it *insert crazed laughter here* so this is where it ended up...? Enjoy!
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. The Stars are Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Post Apocalypse setting. Is it going to be fluffy? Or angsty? Or both? Roll the dice, love.
> 
> TW for violence, mostly at the end. Stabby stab stab.
> 
> Also I forgot to proofread. WE DIE LIKE MEN.

Do you ever feel as if the world is spinning too fast? As if you know that too well, and the very concept of it is enough to make you realize that there is no way to escape it? Good. Take pride in the accuracy of your feelings. 

But now, the world seemed to have stopped spinning. The stars are kept suspended in their posts, like sentinels waiting for an order that will never come. And it’s okay that the world has stopped, because Yuri’s heartbeat has stopped as well. There’s no reason for it to keep going at the moment. He looks around incredulously, thinking, wondering. Not sure if he’ll be walking away. There was no security in such things. He swallows dryly, and tries to move. It feels like his limbs are made of angry geese, which only makes sense if you think about it the right way. Not good for moving. 

But Victor’s in there, so he has to move, doesn’t he?

Yuri grits his teeth and tries to breathe quieter. There, he can see the door now, and there’s a light. Someone’s in there. He’ll have to join them. And if Victor’s not there? He has a knife. Something’ll wind up happening. His mind flashes back to the times Victor’s used that same knife, and… okay. His breath catches as he lifts his hand to knock on the door. This might work. It might not. No, no, stop thinking. Stop thinking and knock. It’s not that hard.

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

Scuffling from behind the door, and the stars look on in fixed apathy as Yuri leaves the relative safety of the wastelands. They continue to watch, through the gaping hole in the roof, as he talks softly with a stranger. They don’t think anything about the stranger. They know him, of course, but only as much as one would know the next door neighbor they’ve never talked with. Or an angry goose. 

Yuri glances up at them, returning the curiosity for a moment, before returning to the conversation. 

“You’re Katsuki?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“Huh. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I- uh- sorry.”

The stranger just smiles, somewhat eccentrically, but that can be expected when the world is at an end. Maybe it came to an end a while ago, and no one’s realized it yet. Yuri shakes his head, dismantling the thought. 

“Where is he?” Yuri asks. 

“Over there, under that tarp. All tied up, nice and pretty.”

“Uh… Huh. I think we’ll be leaving now, if that’s okay.” Yuri notices the slight tremble in his voice.

The stranger grins again. “Nope. You want to play for him?”

“What?”

“A card game. You want to play? I win, I get you both, and if you win, y’all go off and do whatever you were doing before.”

“Um, yeah, okay,” Nothing is okay, but he says that anyway, “That sounds good.”

His reasoning for agreeing to this peculiar thing is rather simple. In fact, I believe you would have done the same thing, if these events had unfolded before you. The stranger had, over the course of the previous conversation, lazily pointed a gun at the tarp under which we shall continue to assume that Victor is tied up ‘nice and pretty’. 

The stars turn their attention back to the play coiling up neath their light. Their attention, in particular, is focused on the voices. They cannot hear these voices, but is that not the duality of life? To seek out the one thing you are forbidden? To seek out the extents lifted from thought? That’s what the stars are doing. They listen, with all the ire of a glistening flame not let loose form the confines of a candle, to the soft voice and the… the other voice. The soft voice, to them, is like roses who had never seen the moon. And that is a pity, for the roses and the stars are great companions. The other voice, though. They do not like that voice. It seems as if it is holding something squishy a bit too close to their faces, and they find it disturbing. 

And yet, the voices continue. The stars watch as cards are deal out across a makeshift table, between the owner of the soft voice and that of the other. The owner of the soft voice, they realize, looks to fit the part. The black hair might do something to aid it. But the other? The other is far too tall to govern the squishy voice. But they continue to speak, and the stars have no say in who’s voice belongs to who. 

Yuri stares at his cards, dread funneling through every vein and capillary. He is unaware of the frozen audience suspended over head. They like it better that way. He glances nervously at the tarp. It doesn’t seem to be moving. But the hand is dealt, and he’s in for whatever happens now. Okay. 

“You go first,” The stranger says, and the stars recoil at the sound.

They watch, ever present in the shadows of the moon, as the cards are laid once and twice again. There is nothing for them to do, but to watch. They watch as the clock ticks on, and on, as if time is still real to the two men about the table. I should stop calling it that. Try upturned box, that’s more accurate. 

“The soft one will lose,” they whisper among themselves, “The soft one will lose, and we will never hear his voice again.”

I should think that you are tiring of these stars. So, I shall tell you of a few other stars, who are watching someone else entirely. The thing they notice first, of course, is that his hair is is a strikingly similar color to their own glow. The second, is that he’s bleeding. The third, is that he seems to be running with all fury’s hesitance towards the building wherein the other stars are observing a card game. These stars murmur among themselves, questioning when he will finally give out and collapse. If he’ll make it to the building. Why he’s trying to run with those injuries. It must be important, right? The person must be important?

The stars’ murmurs turn to concerned hush as he finally trips and falls. They all smile collectively as he somehow rights himself. They are weary of people falling and not getting up again. They are weary of the dead. This person looks as if he might be close to that. But there, he seems to be running again, and they are silently cheering for the dash. Just a few more feet, a meter, then-

The door flies open, and the stranger smiles again. Yuri does not take that as a good sign, thinking that the newcomer might be yet another individual he’d rather not have to chat with. 

But that does not appear to be the case. 

Yuri stares wordlessly at the person. He looks so different, but still the same, like hearing a live performance of your favorite song. Then he’s left the the table, and the stranger is still smiling that cursed smile. The stars smile brightly to themselves as the two collide. They are not used to such affection, and take it in turn as something they will miss for a long time. They are not used to hands sliding over bloodied arms, harried questions, and the quiet ‘I love you’s that only come when you think something is gone for all eternity. But they like it, more then they are willing to admit. They like the teary smiles and half-choked words, and the bright flashes that spark between the two. Then they realize that the newcomer is talking, and they listen, for this is a voice that they had not yet become acquainted with. 

“I found you, it’s okay, are you hurt?”

They listen to the words, enthralled. The accent is not something they are familiar with, but it’s not bad, like seeing art for a show you’ve never seen. And they like this voice, as it is quite like the sound of pen scratching against paper in a filled notebook. And they like it. They want to keep listening, which is lovely, because the person keep talking. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” The soft voiced once, Yuri, interrupts. He’s smiling as if he still can’t believe that this isn’t a hallucination, “I’m okay. You’re not, though, what happened? Victor, you’re bleeding.”

The stars wonder at the need to state the obvious, but the humans seem to like doing that. Victor, that’s his name, smiles. There is a lot of smiling going on and the stars aren’t quite sure what they think of it. 

“No, it’s okay, it’s absolutely fine.”

“I beg to differ.”

The stars are startled by the sudden intrusion of the stranger. They still have hold barred against his voice, strong ones, with barbed wire and flamethrowers. Are you curious as to how a star could have access to a flame thrower? Of course, as it is not a natural thing. But consider; they’re made of fire. All they would have to do is throw it, and there would be a flamethrower. 

However, that is another story, for another time, when we can discuss the mechanics of early twentieth century technology in more depth. 

“Excuse me?” 

The stars are worried now. Victor’s voice has gone colder. It seems that the stranger has said the wrong thing, and they do not know what lengths he will go to. They worry for the two voices. They have a bitter disposition against the third. 

“This is not fine. I let you go, and you come back? I shoot you, and you come back? I’m not in this for you. I’m in this for that trail of blood you should have left and the prisoner I’m about to take.”

The stars dryly note that the stranger appears to have an edgy way with words and monologues. But they soon grow concerned again, as the taller one hugs the soft-voiced boy tighter, and the blood becomes more fitting for his expression. They notice, passively, that if the stranger were to shoot at them now, Victor would be the one to take the hit. The other stars recall how his face twisted up every few minuets, and smile to themselves. A gunshot wound. How lovely. It would still be hurting, wouldn’t it? and the blood loss you be getting to him soon. 

The stranger lifts his gun. 

The stars find themselves caught up in the affairs of these humans with more fervor than they had taken in a few thousand years. So, they watch with baited breath as time comes to a standstill. Perhaps it, too, wants to keep the two men safe. Yet time itself is not the savior of all, and the stranger pulls the trigger. 

The stars seem to go dull.

Yuri is up again now, and I don’t know how that happened. Perhaps time was merciful enough to spare us that moment of realization, the pained cry and halting heartbeat. 

The stars can’t listen anymore, not to the soft voice whispering to the dying man. For he is dying, and no theatrical prowess can save that. Not even plot. But the stars keep watching. They watch as the stranger leaves his card game and goes to put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, they watch as he bats it away and keeps talking to Victor. They watch the final shuddering breath and the look of blank love as another soul leaves another body. They sigh, and try to keep similar tears from falling. There is nothing that can happen now. The stranger, with his horrible voice and soft fingers, is too strong for Yuri. 

Right?

Nope.

The stranger approaches once more, gun still in hand. Yuri’s breathing is coming ragged now, the world falling to shatters beyond the limits it has already succumbed to. He leans down and allows the world one last kiss, short and warm, kept by the final heartbeat. The stranger still has his gun, though there aren’t many more bullets. Yuri stands up then, and the stranger is surprised, along with the stars. 

But there is still a knife clenched in Yuri’s hands, and he intends to use it. 

The stranger smiles warmly. He takes this action as giving up, stepping away and leaving the past behind. It isn’t, but we’ll let him think that for now. There, almost there. The stranger is uncomfortably close now, and Yuri smiles. Not the eccentric smile the stranger kept pasted on, but one of bitterness. 

Then the knife is given another taste of human flesh, and the stranger nearly falls over in shock. Yuri stabs him once more, then withdraws the blade. He’s looking at the stranger with idle curiosity now, and the stranger at him with shock and no small amount of fear. Yuri gently pushes him away, and doesn’t pay much attention to where the corpse lands. 

And the stars are still watching. 

They still watch the skater in a rink of blood.


	2. The Cliffs of Normandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WW2 AU. This exists entirely because I was thinking about The Ghost of You and Longest Day while near a computer so here we are ladies, friends, and gentlemen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence and character death. Lotsa feels.

“The troops are getting restless.”  
“Of course we are. We’ve only been waiting for, what, how many weeks?”  
“Not sure. I’m betting on three, maybe four.”  
Victor sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “When do you think they’ll give it?”  
“They’ll have to issue the order once the weather clears up, won’t they?”  
“Right. I don’t know if that’s going to happen anytime in the next millennia, though.”  
And, as I can say with all confidence, the weather is not clear. It is more like a hailstorm of glassy bullets at this point. Victor doubts that the beaches were much better. He’s doubting a lot of things at this point, but this is only a oneshot, and you would need a novella to properly express all those things. Maybe a novel.  
“You sent your mum a letter lately?” Victor asks quietly.  
Yuri shakes his head, “They’re not letting us send letters. Paranoia about the Germans, I guess.”  
“That’s what it always is. Really, though, what’s going to go wrong if the Germans find out that your dog is still alive?”  
“According to the brass, Norway could get blown up.”  
Victor laughs. It’s a nice laugh, one that has been missing for entirely too long. Which is to say, about five minutes. The two of them settle into comfortable silence as the barracks remain in the chaotic state that only occurs when you put too many grown men in one place together. They listen to the rain, its sly fingers drumming against the deck. They listen to the shouts from the betting circle a few rows over, and the hushed conversation woven through the air by thought and gossip.  
But in this moment, it’s okay.  
In this moment, the world’s alive.  
Yet the world has such a funny way of letting moments pass, one after the other, spiraling from the future to the past. The two men, awaiting the orders that would decide fate and fortune all, did not know to take this one as it came. Just as you do not know, my dear. They did not know to leave the closets they had built up around themselves, of doubt and pining. Do you know what it takes to get someone out of one of these closets?  
A bullet.  
***  
“It’s still raining.” Yuri whispers nervously, his words lost to all but one in the mire of a channel storm.  
“Of course it is,” Victor replies, “But I think we’ll be okay.”  
“Will we?”  
“I’ll make sure you are.”  
The cliffs are in sight now. They’re not as tall as the ones the men have had to train on, but they do have barbed wire. And soldiers. That seems to make up the difference. The waves twist blithely about the ship, and it seems colder than it really is. Quieter. The wind whips and howls, though the only things to be listened to are thoughts of war and blood. The cliffs seem to be approaching faster, like time has been set on a strange clock that is still being wound.  
The waves still play about the boat, or ship, or whatever one would like to call it. It seems so much smaller after months of being trapped aboard, and Victor stops to wonder if the waves are simply playing with the vessel, like a dog with a ball. Yet wonderings are useless in the face of so much. We always say things like that. ‘In the face of danger,’ or ‘In the face of duty’. Why? That would suggest that you are level with the danger, and have an even chance. A better wording would be to say that one is at the feet of danger, as they would be looking up at it with more than some trepidation. Just like Yuri is looking up at the cliffs now. They weren’t too tall, but still a bit taller than he is.  
“Hey,” Victor puts a hand on Yuri’s arm, patting gently, “Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.”  
“I’m more worried about you.”  
“Then I guess I’ll just have to be okay too.”  
The ship… uh, boat. Vessel. The vessel has just jolted to a stop. Yuri stumbles into Victor a bit, but neither of them mind. They were standing pretty close together in the first place. Yuri’s heart picks up, more than it already had, if that could be deemed possible.  
“S-sorry.”  
“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Victor managed to stop himself before he said that he wished it happened more often.  
What an adorable scene. Hope you don’t get whiplash.  
The next ten minutes passed in a blur. This was mostly because Yuri’s glasses got smudged and he didn’t have much time to clean them off. The feel of bodies packed close together, absentmindedly reaching for Victor’s hand so he wouldn’t lose him, and the steady rocking of the boat. No, not on a boat anymore, a landing craft. Great. That only means that the inevitable was getting closer, that war is at hand and it is real.  
No more pretending.  
No more safety.  
No more living.  
Victor looks about at the men on board. Many of them won’t be going home. What’s the point, then? Why would the brass bother with such a conflict, if only the thoughts of defense and avarice are there to guard it? But there is always a point, isn’t there? There are people these men, fellow humans, are there to protect. Or they had been drafted. Both were likely. Jack Churchill was going to be in the first or second wave, Victor remembers. So there was patriotism, too, to fight for a country. Or the people within the country, as one would likely not kill and die for a city of ruins… Like London, I suppose.  
But what was the point, if the only person he cared enough to fight for was standing right beside him?  
Yuri’s more occupied with the Rommel’s Asparagus he can see on the beach. They would be in the fields, too, so the gliders might have a bit of trouble. But why the beach? It wasn’t high tide, was it? Or maybe it was, and he just had lost all track of time and space. There might be snipers up on the cliff, they could set the mines off and… No, not time to think about it.  
“Avoid the poles with the mines on top, okay?” He whispers.  
Victor nods.  
Now they’ve stopped moving, and the ramp has fallen. It doesn’t splash as high as Yuri expected. It doesn’t matter, because they’re wading through the water now, and he has no idea how that happened. But it’s okay, because they’re going in the right direction. A few splashes in the water, gunshots, people shouting. No dramatic music. All he can hear is his heartbeat. He glances over his shoulder, searching for Victor. There, he’s okay. Of course he is, always is.  
Another gunshot, and the water splashes up a few feet away from him. Close, not close enough. Yuri doesn’t bother thinking about it. He’s not frozen anymore, Victor’s fine, and he’s wading towards the shore again. Someone to his left gets shot. There, you see? How simple it is? All that happens is a simple sentence, and a life is gone. Yuri stares at the body for a moment, the way the blood seeps into the water like ink. The way the corpse floats.  
Victor grabs his arm, and they’re going again. There, another ten feet, there’s the beach. There are already soldiers there, dying and falling and running. The sand looks too pure and white to be the scene of this nightmare. But it is, a permanent part of the world that is allowing the corpses to fall every second. And that’s where they’re running.  
Then the both of them are out of the water, and hiding behind a tank trap. Bullets are peppering the beach, much like the rain in England. No thoughts of home. No thinking, that wasn’t possible, just living for the next ten seconds. Ten minutes. Another body, someone falling down. They couldn’t stay there forever.  
Yuri glances up at Victor. He nods, and they’re running again. There wasn’t anything but that. Just trying not to get shot. Jumping over the body in front of you. The medics are having their work cut out for them, quite literally. Corpses are everywhere. Yuri nearly trips on a corpse, but that doesn’t matter. The soldier doesn’t have to worry about this life anymore. Then a medic is pushing him aside, and Yuri realizes that it wasn't a corpse. It doesn’t matter. Victor’s got his hand again, and there, the cliffs. Another fifty feet, that was okay. It would be okay. Victor is surprised they’ve gotten this far.  
I take you now to another person. Another person who is simply doing his job, nothing more, and nothing less. In fact, he’s rather worried about what’ll happen if the Allied Troops get up the cliff. This particular person would like to avoid death just as much as the people on the beach. Because that’s what he is. He was drafted, there would be no reason to be here otherwise. Couldn’t care less about the Axis, or the fatherland, or whatever the hell they were fighting for now.  
Just a person, a sniper, loading the Karabiner 98k they had issued him at the start of all this.  
Yuri Plisetski takes aim at one of the mines, the ‘Rommel’s Asparagus’, as the British had come to call them. It didn’t matter. Another round of faceless men, dead as the rest. If he lived, he could go home to his cat and grandfather.  
So that became the priority.  
He hits the target. Doesn’t bother to watch it explode, he knew what it looked like. Just took aim once more, and kept shooting.  
But back to that first mine he hit, eh?  
Yuri sees the sniper first. He can see where the barrel was pointed. His pace slows for a moment, neck craning about to look for what the target was. And he spots it, a second before the explosion. Doesn’t think, just reacts. That’s what he was supposed to do, right?  
Victor doesn’t realize at first that there had been an explosion. All he can see is the bloody mop of Yuri’s hair, dusty with sand. He forgets to breathe for a moment. That had to be someone else’s blood.  
But it’s not.  
Victor rolls Yuri off, too stunned to realize. His throat has gone tight, he can’t call for a medic. And the blood. There was shrapnel in that mine. Blood is dripping through Yuri’s uniform, slipping over Victor’s hands as he tries to stem the flow. It’s not a flow anymore, it's a waterfall, and there is so much of it. Too much. Yuri smiles. A real smile, one that Victor loves.  
“It’s okay. It’s okay, run. Run, Victor.”  
“No, no doing that. You’ll be okay.” He doesn’t believe his own voice.  
“Love you.”  
Yuri’s eyes don’t solemnly drift close. There’s no dramatic music in the background. It’s raining still, but the world has been like that for all too long. Instead, he breathes one last time, and it’s useless. He’s still smiling as he dies, a heartbeat coming to an end, the black curtain drifting across his eyes.  
“Hey, wake up,” Victor whispers, choked by the tears welling up in his eyes, “We have to keep running, you’ll get shot. Come on. I said I’d protect you, okay? Come on, wake up, please?”  
Victor knows he has to keep running. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been shot yet, either. But he’s paralyzed. Time has stopped, watching the scene coldly, as if it knows there is nothing to do about it. Victor brushes Yuri’s hair back, smiling back, pretending. Of course he’s just sleeping. Just sleeping.  
Victor pulls the body into a hug, and screams, for the stars have forgotten them.


	3. Three in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I have no idea what I'm doing. But here you are! Fluff!

It’s dark. 

But not really, honestly. It’s different from that kind of dark one would find in the early mornings, where the sun is just over the hill and is turning the air a peculiar shade of blue. Different from the kind where the dark is forgotten under the silvery moon. This is the kind of dark one would find on a city street, wherein the lights make it just as daytime yet the sky is sable above you.

It’s not a bad kind of dark. Then again, there aren’t many bad kinds of anything when one is with their lover. I’m sure I could come up with a few. 

But not now. 

Not when the lights of the world are forgotten, cast aside on the floor along with the worries of whatever lives existed beyond the bedroom door. Those thoughts and prayers can batter at the door as long as they’d like. The only thing that matters at this moment is sleep, to simply lie there and remain in this life.

Yuri opens his eyes slowly, as if he was afraid that moving too quickly would shatter this daydream. Unfortunately, this is not a world where everything is crystal clear the moment you open your eyes. Forget not wearing glasses. He blinks with equal trepidation, wondering if the illusion next to him will disappear along with the blurriness. It doesn’t.

“Morning, sunshine,” Victor laughs. 

“Morning?”

“It’s about three in the morning, I think.”

Yuri blinks again, “Huh. Morning, I guess.”

They lapse into quiet. Which is okay, because what’s there to talk about? How inevitably perfect the other looks without their shirt? Not the best subject for casual conversation. But, of course, Victor comes up with something after a moment. 

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Yuri smiles sleepily, seeing as he is still half asleep. Those two things go together very well, you see.

“There is a thing.”

“What is this thing?”

“To express joy and affection, we seem to contract muscles. Is that it? Sometimes we show the other person our mouth bones. Is that a little scary to you?”

“Victor, love of my life, angel. What time did you say it was?”

“Time to think about mouth bones.”

“You said that it is three in the morning.”

“Which is a good time to think about mouth bones!”

“It is not a good time to think about teeth.”

“Mouth bones.”

“Okay, mouth bones. Come on, sleep, we can discuss this at great length in the morning.”

“But it’s an issue now. There is no hiding the truth! It is an issue that must be talked about!”

Yuri smiled again, “I know how to get you to stop talking about mouth bones, love.” 

“How? There shall be no suppression of-”

I think you do have the vaguest idea of how quiet overtook the bedroom again. Do you? Or would you like an explanation? I’m going to go ahead and assume you would, because I assume a lot of things, and that’s how life works. Ta-daa!

Victor smiled into the kiss. Mission accomplished. Through some turn of events, Yuri wound up on top. Neither of them minded that, seeing as the both of them were rather distracted by beating hearts and soft lips.

***

The morning after is usually a good morning. That is due to the fact that the next morning is proof that the world is still spinning and humanity is still alive. Proof that there is reason to remain in this dancing globe. 

Another glimpse of that proof was the absolute idiot who skated into the kitchen on socks. 

Yuri looked up from his phone and laughed, “And he lands another amazing slide!”

Victor bows, his own laughter mirroring Yuri’s. They make eye contact, and…

Yurio walks in, doesn’t bother glancing at the two lovebirds, and grabs the keys he’d left on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears that I am better at writing pain. I shall return to that, apparently.


	4. I Thought We Were Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene in which we have the two members of rival gangs wind up in an alley...totally alone together... and nothing else could go wrong, right?
> 
> It started out as trying to write enemies to lovers and halfway succeeded lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence, I think? Mention of violence? Willingness to bite the dust for a lover?

In every story, the main character pays little attention to the little cuts on their hands in the middle of a fight scene because they would be distracted by the risks at hand. This is absolute nonsense. The human body releases endorphins when someone is injured, to cap off the pain, but that doesn’t work as well for things like papercuts. Or, you know, scratched up knuckles. 

Yuri draws his arms into a defensive position once more. He knows that he’ll be able to keep going, but he doesn’t want to. His hands hurt like hell, if hell could reside in someone’s hands. But the fight wasn’t over, so he can’t stop. The rest of the men had been chased off, or they’re dead, he doesn’t know. That might be the same thing at this point. 

Victor’s on the ground, bleeding. Not anything major, though, just the aesthetically tasteful ribbon of blood twirling down from the corner of his mouth. He looks up at Yuri with smiling eyes, as if this is the best fight he’s had in a while. The nighttime air would have held its breath, if it had breath to hold. It just kind of stood there, settled over the scene with impermanence and apprehension. 

“You look so cute when you’re trying to kill me, you know that?” Victor laughs.

Yuri shakes his head, “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Ah, here we are,” Victor struggles to get up, “Ready to keep going?”

No, not really. Of course he’s not ready. He wants the end to be right there, whether it’s him dying or no, but he wants it to be over already. But Yuri nods, and tries to manage the same cocky smile Victor is surrendering to the nighttime pinpricks in the sky, scarred by swathes of cloud. 

“You know, it’s just not the same effect without the blood… But hey, you’re still cute.” Victor remarks casually. 

Yuri doesn’t respond, just raises his fists higher. They feel awkward and heavy, though he’s not bleeding anywhere, and he’s acutely aware of the spike of pain in his ankle. But there isn’t time to do anything about it. If wishes were fishes, there’d be no room in the river for water. That was a Redwall quote, by the way. Just like the wall behind him, splattered with the blood from one of the lackeys. They’d gotten away, Yuri hopes, and that was definitely not a body over there. No, just the shrubs. Okay. 

“Oh? We’re just going to keep going? Alright.”

Yuri really doesn’t want to do that, his hands still hurt like hell, “Or you could keep on with your one-sided conversation… It’s cute.”

Victor smiles at that. It’s a real smile, and the muggy nighttime air relaxes a bit. It’s the kind of smile that one would find in the depths of the ocean, among unknown secrets and things that no one knew existed. Perhaps it was simply a reflection, and the smile mirrored the depths of his mind, among affections that weren’t supposed to exist.

But I suppose they do. That doesn’t change the orders both the young men were given. 

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know that?”

“Done a fine job of it so far, I think you can keep going. There’s a security camera just up there, your boss would find out if you stopped.” Yuri smiles quietly, a fictitious smile that one would have to seek out in tales of treachery and assassinations. 

“Huh. If that’s the only problem, then…”

Victor withdraws a pistol. It seems to be an old one, fitting to take the leading role in a modern rendition of a Shakespeare play. He aims carefully, pulls the trigger, and the eyes that could have exposed every drop of evidence they had both killed themselves to keep contained were shut. 

“Problem solved.” Victor grinned then, equally cocky as before. 

The problem isn’t solved. Not by a long shot. They’re still on the opposite sides of a war that no one can see is going on, where meaningful gestures mean the same as a full on battle. Like a decapitated horse’s head. There hadn’t been any of those this time around. That doesn’t mean anything, really. 

“You’re not done, Vitya. Come on. Problem’s only solved if I’m dead.” Yuri smiles again.

“But…”

“You know you have to.”

Victor shakes his head, expression thinning away from what had been so carefully painted on by the brushes of necessity and hope. He doesn’t want to hurt Yuri anymore. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone at this point, just… He just wants to go home, and sleep, and return to the days before the Incident. 

“I can’t.”

Yuri’s smile dims, “He’s going to kill you.”

Of course he will. That’s what happened to dissenters in the ranks. But Victor doesn’t mind dying, if it means Yuri can steal another day from the drumming fingers of fate. But there are excuses to be made, and he might be able to escape with something so simple as a whipping. 

“I’ll tell him you had backup men. That we got ambushed.”

The sound of gunshots pierce the air. Victor’s getaway team. That’s inconvenient for them now, because he’s currently surrounded by Yuri’s men. He looks over his shoulder, and a stray breeze fluffs hair into his face. 

“Hey,” Yuri snaps his fingers, demanding Victor’s attention, “Look at me.”

Victor complies. 

“I still love you. Remember that.”

Victor blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes, “I love you too.”

“Now I need you to kill me.”

Yuri’s still smiling, Victor realizes. He knows that smile. It’s the one that belongs to those who know very well that they won’t have to kill anyone else, because who can a dead man harm? He shakes his head, still looking for one little scrap of hope, looking for that one glimpse of a life that could have been, so long ago. Trying to remember when they would have been asleep by this time, tangled up in each other’s limbs. 

“I can’t.”

Victor’s team is getting closer. They don’t have much time left. Five minuets, tops. Yuri is getting nervous now, shifting from one foot to another. Victor needs to do his job. If he doesn’t… Yuri’s seen what his boss has done to those who didn’t do well enough. He can’t let that happen to Victor. So he steps forward. His hands aren’t shaking, just a feeling like a bit of twine twisted about his ribs. 

Victor’s team will be there in sixty seconds. 

Yuri glances at the road wildly, “Vitya, please.”

“I won’t.”

Yuri takes one more step, haltingly, then another. And another. One more. He’s looking up at his lover now, desperately trying to pretend that there aren’t tears tracing through the dust and scrapes littering his skin. Victor doesn’t move. It seems as if he’s frozen in place, the hot August air trapping every intention of moving. Yuri slowly reaches down and guides Victor’s gun to rest in the center of his forehead. 

“You gotta do it.”

Victor shakes his head, “No, nope, there’s got to be some other way-”

“Vitya. Trigger. Now. Please.” Yuri’s breath is coming is halting gasps. There is no serenity, no certainty, that can calm him now. 

Victor holds the pistol steady for a moment, long enough for Yuri to release his hand. The team is thirty seconds away. Then he drops his hand, slowly, and Yuri looks like he’s about to grab the gun and do it himself for a moment. Victor returns the gun to the holster he’d ‘borrowed’. 

“I need you not to die, love.”

I don’t know who said that just now. Someone did, it works for both. They’re both thinking it. They both know it. The team will be there in fifteen seconds. Yuri’s men are getting closer, too, as they are forced to retreat back towards the center. Yuri’s hands are shaking now, dread bubbling just beneath his skin like acid.

“Hey,” Victor says, tilting Yuri’s chin up to meet his eye, “Look at me.”

Yuri does, because he knows that it’s the last time he’s going to see that same smile, that same face. He knows it’s the last time he’s going to see Victor. 

“We’ll figure something out.”

Yuri nods jerkily, unable to trust his own voice. Victor looks at him for a moment, then someone’s shouting at them. That someone is just around the corner. They sound familiar. Then it snaps, and he remembers. It’s one of the people from Before. 

“Victor, we’re retreating!” Otabek shouts, “The boss needs you for something else!”

One of Yuri’s men is there too, he realizes. Another one of the people from before the gangs. The two in the alley can’t see them, but Yuri recognizes the Russian curses. If you were standing on that street, dear reader, you would see a similar situation going on. A fight between those who want anything but that, put on for the sake of anyone who could be there to make sure no one reverts to old affection. This particular fight has a lot more physical contact than would normally be deemed necessary, but back to the two in the alley. 

“Yuri, I still love you. Remember that.”

“I l-love you too.”

Yuri pulls him down for one last kiss, in the worst place imaginable. The team is five seconds away, save for Otabek, who is currently dealing with a painfully similar situation. 

Victor has to be the first one to step away, breathless and crying. He doesn’t want to remember how to breathe after this, just to be lost in those kisses again and again. But the world pays little attention to what a normal person wants, and he’s running out onto the street. A sob breaks up in his throat as he sees Otabek and Yurio on the ground, both bleeding. He pulls Yurio back and pretends to knock him out, a violent charade for those who would have followed. The team has arrived, then, and he’s gone. Not able to look over his shoulder at the love he left behind. 

Yurio gets up after a moment, pretending to wince when he touches the spot Victor pretended to hit. So much pretending going on, eh?

Like Yuri, walking out of the alley, pretending that those aren’t his tears rolling down into the dust. He nods carefully at Yurio, a fragile smile pasted with very low quality glue upon his lips. The air, hot and heavy, exhales then. It is a sigh of relief, that the both of them would go on to live but one more day. 

“We’ll have to figure it out.” He says plainly. 

Yurio nods. He understands.


	5. "You're Early."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This concept has been buzzing around in my head since last night so y'all are gonna have to suffer with me *insert evil laughter here*
> 
> It's short, but hey, that's the point of a oneshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for... Death, but not so much violence? There's death but a lack of angsty feels? You'll see, I suppose.

  
"You're early," Says Death.

Victor glances up at the smiling boy, "I missed you."

Death blushes, which is an incredible sight, seeing as his skin has gone bright white due to his occupation. His grip twists on the white scythe he has had since he beginning of time itself.

"I missed you too, Vitya."

Victor stands up shakily. He doesn't mind the pain now, as he knows just how temporary it is. As if he knows that there is no point left here, that life without death is closer to death then life itself.

"Where are we going, Yuri?" Victor asks calmly. 

Calmly. As if he knows that life without death is nothing more than a living death, as if there is no point to anything without the sharp edge of the knife. He knows too much at this point, but you wouldn't know just by looking at him. In fact, the casual observer would see nothing but a tallish person with blood dripping into his eyes and a rather unfortunate cut across his upper arm. Nothing else. Fortunately, you are not the casual observer. You are the person who can see everything, every rivulet of blood. You can see it as your eyes glance over these words. That means you can also see that the boy, the one with the scythe and bloodstained robes. They both look tired. 

"We're going home," Yuri smiles, "Home."

You can see the hesitancy with which Victor reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair away. You can see the slightest glimmer of tears sparking in both their eyes. You can see so many things, like the weight of the rain falling down on their shoulders, like the trickles of diluted blood washing away into the gutter.

"Home?" Victor asks. 

"Yeah."

They're both smiling now. That kind of shy smile that one would find upon seeing your friend for the first time in a long time, but you know this is quite a bit more than a friendship. 

Victor looks down at himself. The body he has been stuck in for so long is tired, and cold. It's bleeding, too. He's not lightheaded, though there is so much blood on the sidewalk... 

Yuri lifts the scythe. 

"You ready to come home, Vitya?"

Victor nods. 

To the eyes of a casual observer, Victor would have slumped against the wall, fainted. The casual observer would have called the cops by now. But, as I have said, you are not the casual observer. You are not there to help him. There is not help that you can give, no way to keep this one person's fate from unfolding. Just to keep following the flow of word after word, to continue on with the idyllic sorrows of our lives. 

Victor can hear his heartbeat stop. 

He's going home.


	6. Memory Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory Lane is an unfortunately real place. 
> 
> I would like to say that it's the sequel to the last one, but it could be so much more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of death

It is unfortunate how real some things are. Memory Lane, for example. That's the place one has to walk down when they die, you see. It's a nice little road. Cold, tall buildings that seem like they belong in a novel from the fifties, and looming trees. Those trees are quite an issue. That's where the regrets hide, dropping down on you and trying to keep you from leaving the Lane. 

But don't worry, love. 

Death will guide you through. He is rather good at batting them away, much like annoyed chickens when he goes up against them. If you were to take the regrets on your own, they would seem a bit more like geese. Annoyed geese. With guns. You see how badly that would go for you? Exactly. 

And Victor's not alone, either. Death, Yuri, or a friend, whatever one would like to title the harbinger of pace and a final rest. He's there. They walk with fingers entwined, quickly, but not too fast to see a life spent too soon. Victor glances at one of the memories, in a hotel, before Yuri died. He turns bright red. Yuri hasn't noticed that particular memory yet. He's staring at another one as it is blown by breezes that don't seem to be there... It's of a beach, I think. Of blood. Of a war long fought. 

Victor gently takes his attention away from that memory with a whispered reassurance. I don't know what he said, I'm rather far away at this point.

"I never thought..." Yuri trails off, laughing quietly, "I never thought that I would be killed by something called 'asparagus'."

Victor laughs as well, and the regrets take a step back. They're not immune to joy, nor tenderness. They are immune to whistling, though, so for your safety- oh, here they come again. I'll be right back, if I live through this particular encounter. 

***

The geese- uh, regrets, are not as strong as they seem. But they can still take off a lot of skin. And fingers. So. Um. Avoid the geese. But is this a story about geese? No, it's about the two people who've stopped to look at a very peculiar memory. 

"I don't remember this," Yuri says nervously. 

"I do." Victor's smiling, "I remember it very well."

"How drunk was I?"

I can tell you that he had roughly seventeen flutes of champagne. However, Victor didn't know that. Just the aftermath. The slightly steamy aftermath, which is all covered in episode ten of the anime. 

"Very. It was adorable."

Yuri's gone bright red again. Victor glances at him, and grins.

"That's adorable too, love."

And they keep walking. The only option available. There is never any other option, just to walk, to continue in your ways. It does not matter if you change direction, for those ways will become yours. Just like this way belongs to the two lovers watching a past where they knew nothing of death, where they knew only little bits and pieces of what it meant to give someone your heart. 

The next memory is of Victor setting the toaster on fire. 

It only grows more sober after that. They lapse into a tragic story of gangs and of ice and- there, that night in the alley. All those hopeless ones after it. They don't stop to look at that one. There, the end of Memory lane. The regrets haven't troubled them much, and do you know why that is?

They've been too busy chasing the damn narrator. Hold on, I'll be right back, they've got a broom now-

***

It's not cold at the end of the Lane. It's not warm, either. Like sunshine on a cloudless day, but with a spring breeze whipping through your hair. They cancel out beautifully, polar opposites, and yet they are in front of you all together. 

Victor looks left and right. To the left, there is a pretty and old-fashioned sign that says 'Home Avenue'. To the left, another one, exactly the same in all but the letters inscribed upon it; 'Humanity's Path'. They reflect the sunshine beautifully, in cascades of color trapped within nothing but clear light. 

"Which way?" He asks.

Yuri just smiles. There is no hidden meaning to the smile. He's just very happy. It's all over, the world is set before them now, with no bullets, no crisis to separate them.

They turn right, and Victor can hear his heart beating again.


	7. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have lost all control of the story. Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of blood

“Yuri?” Victor asks.  
“Yeah?”  
“Is this home?”  
Yuri looks out at the sandy wastes. They’re cold that night, and everything is overcast with a sheen of faith and fire. The stars are bright. Victor seems alarmed to see the mysterious lights floating in the sky. There’s a little town in the distance, and a sign that’s almost out of sight. They’re not close enough to read it. But there is an air of peace that surrounds all this, something familiar that really shouldn’t be there. Yuri smiles.  
“Yeah.”  
Victor is still rather alarmed, but he follows along when Yuri starts walking towards the town. It seems quiet. It seems safe, in the same way that the sunshine does. But the presence of sunshine, the warmth that it gives you, does not mean that there is no security in the night. Yuri stumbles, Victor tries to catch him, they both end up tangled in the sand.  
“You’re hot.” Yuri comments quietly as they untangle themselves, “Rather deja vu, don’t you think?”  
“Yeah,” Victor laughs.  
And they keep walking, hand in hand, towards the town that’s slightly suspicious for no good reason. Two two of them talk, like a normal couple, about the world. The one that was left behind. They talk in hushed voices about the gangs, how they’re going to function after losing their members. How all of this spiraled out of control so quickly. They talk about the stars as well, how quiet they are in the night sky. They do not talk about the lights in the sky.  
Victor can read the sign now. It seems like a quiet, nice place. The name instills a sweet tone in his mind, one that begs mystery and answers and yet cherished the questions.  
“Night Vale?”  
Yuri nods, grinning. “Home.”  
“It seems nice.”  
“It’ll be better, now that you’re here.”  
Victor smiles at that. He’s smiling at a lot of things, really. He’s glad that Yuri’s alive- or that they’re both dead, whatever definition fits. He’s glad for so many things, that the tired body he used to be trapped in has bled out by now, that there are no more people to scurry about under and hide from in a desperate attempt to keep Yuri safe. There is no more of that. There is only peace, and this twisting place called ‘Night Vale’.  
They make it to the edge of the town, and are greeted by someone Yuri seems to be acquainted with.  
“Hey, Carlos.”  
Victor glances over the man in a white lab coat. He’s not sure what to think, but his voice seems friendly. And he has nice hair. The conversation continues, branching off into something about a glow cloud and the neighboring town. It doesn’t sound like a bad place, Victor thinks. Carlos sounds like a nice person.  
“And this is Victor?” Carlos asks.  
Yuri nods, smiling like a puppy. A happy puppy. Well, that’s what matters, isn’t it? Of course it is.  
“Good,” Carlos continues, “Cecil would love to meet you. And so would the angels, if you know what I mean.”  
Victor doesn’t have time to figure out whether or not that’s a death threat, seeing as a siren’s just gone off in the distance. Yuri shakes his head.  
“So it’s still illegal, huh?”  
Carlos the Scientist nods. Victor has no idea what’s supposed to be illegal, though, so he asks a question. And questions are very good things to ask, because without questions, there would be no such things as the acquirement of knowledge. And without the acquirement of knowledge, we would all be pretty screwed. So Victor pursues this particular knowledge, as you can see.  
“What’s illegal?”  
“Angels,” Carlos says easily, “They’re not supposed to be real.”  
The sirens pick up again, but the other two seem to have an easy time ignoring it.  
“Come on, Cecil really would love to meet you.” Carlos smiles again.  
So they follow the scientist into Night Vale, into a world only one of them has visited before, into a place that feels like it’s supposed to be home.  
***  
Yuri’s bleeding. Not just a little bit, but gallons upon gallons of the beautiful liquid pouring out upon the street. It’s not a street he know, and no human being has the much blood. Where was he a moment ago? With Victor, of course, always. But not now. That’s not good. He just needs to find Victor, and get off the beach, where they’ll all be safe. That’s it.  
But it seems that he can’t move.  
The street is cold, and the stars… They all look so pretty. He just wants to stay there, in the hold of the stars, under their blithe gazes. It seems that they’ll keep the whole world safe just by their vastness, that the sky they hide behind is a blanket instead of void. It’s a very comforting blanket. A cold one. The temperature seems like something he’s not used to, but very, very permanent. The little bits or stone and sand on the street are digging into his hands, but he doesn’t mind. It’s the shrapnel in his back that’s bothering him.  
His eyes focus just long enough to see what’s left of his hands. I must retract that earlier statement; it’s just the shrapnel in his back, his hands, his arms, everywhere. Blood’s trickling through his hair, too, dripping into his eyes and coating the world in a layer of red paint. Something’s gotten very bright all of a sudden, and he’s not sure what to think of it.  
“Hello.”  
Yuri can’t look up to greet the person, or whatever they were, bu they keep talking.  
“My name’s Erika. I have something to offer you, is that alright? You’ll be able to see your lover again.”  
That is a beautiful thought. Yuri tries to nod, to make some kind of noise that says yes. He really doesn’t care what the offer is.  
“Don’t worry, it’s okay. Look, this is what I’m going to do. You’re going to go be alive again, still in the timeline where Victor is, but about… what, eighty years in the future? Seventy?”  
Yuri doesn’t care that much about time at this point.  
“But there are three conditions for this. The first, that you’re going to have to see him die somehow before going back to the original timeline. Then, you’ll be stuck on opposite sides of a gang war, so there’s that. Last, you’re going to have to be in the place of the grim reaper when he finally does die. Sorry, I know, but none of us angels make the rules-”  
“I’ll do it.”  
Yuri isn’t sure how he said that. He isn’t sure about a lot of things. His voice, what’s left of it, is torn to shreds and all scrunched up, like wet bread that’s been set on fire. I know that doesn’t make sense, you just have to think about it the right way. The angel, Erika, seems surprised as well, but he smiles, and the world is all white now…  
***  
Yuri wakes up in a cold sweat. He looks about wildly, as if he knows how temporary actions can be. But no, there’s Victor, right next to him. Safe. Alive.  
“You okay?” He asks blearily.  
Yuri smiles and collapses back into the bed, “Yeah. Just a plot required flashback.”


End file.
